Last Men Standing
by Kim Who Knows
Summary: Sam wakes up everyday thinking, one day more. One day beginning out of the 365 he has left with his brother. Sam introspection after Dean sells his soul.


_Following in a similar vein as _Solitaire_; just some good ol' Sam introspection. Just because it's awesome and begging to be written. There will be a chapter two, and maybe more. Pieces of the days after All Hell Breaks Loose part two._

* * *

Sam wakes up everyday thinking, _one day more. _One day beginning of the 365 he has left with his brother. That's how everyday starts. Sam gets up with optimism burning in his chest, because this is the day he finds the sure-fire spell/deal/symbol/weapon that will make the Crimson-Eyed Demon give up her hold on Dean. Today's the day he makes Dean's dreams come true, because if he dies, Sam's going to make sure he gets/sees/touches/does everything he wants to before the end so he can have something to hold on to while he sits in hell. Only temporarily, of course. Dean wouldn't stay long in hell anyway, because if it happens (which its not) Sam will find a way to pull him back out before he suffers long. _One day beginning._

Sam lies down at night thinking, _one day down. _One day down of the 365 he has left with his brother. That's how everyday ends. Sam lies down with failure smoldering in his chest, because today he didn't find the sure-fire spell/deal/symbol/weapon that ended his brother's deal with the Crimson-Eyed Demon. Today he didn't get Dean what ever he wanted to get/see/touch/do and he's failed. Dean was willing to go to hell, to _hell _for Sam, and Sam knows he's the lesser man because he can't do that. If he goes to hell, nobody saves Dean. And Dean has to be saved. _One day down. _

Sam dreams horrible things. Not like dreams about people dying, people he doesn't know, but dreams about Dean. He dreams about his brother, skin blackening and burning in the fires of hell, screaming an animal scream as the pain drags on and on and on into eternity. He dreams about Dean crying out _Sam, Sam, Sammy, please! _as demons drag their claws down his skin and his lifeblood drips down into a puddle around his feet. And when he wakes up, Dean's shaking him, saying, _Sam, what's the matter _and Sam can't answer, because his heart's in his throat and he's so happy to see his brother still here. Then the cycle begins again. He thinks _one day more._

But Sam knows that the days are running out, falling through his fingers like dry sand. So instead of sleeping, dreaming, Sam looks for a way out of the iron-clad deal. He scours the web, his father's journal (even though he has it memorized) and taxes Bobby's patience. He looks and looks but can't find anything.

And then he does.

Four months into living with the deal, endlessly searching, he finds it. An Armenian pagan ritual that would snatch his brother from the claws of the Crimson-Eyed Demon. Holding tight to that one bit of information, he elaborates, combines it with rites from his father's journal, and in the end, makes something new. A way out. He shouldn't have done it, because creating a ritual is dark, dark magic. Even Dean might not have done it. But Sam doesn't care.

Bobby's impressed when Sam hands it to him for proofreading. He shakes his head and says, "Dangerous business, Sam," and that's all. But Sam's not looking for praise. He has what he needed.

That night, when Dean's eyes close and his grip on the knife under his pillow relaxes, Sam reads. The rite he created fits his tongue perfectly, every word formed to his whim. It's difficult to switch the accent from the original Armenian to his own added Latin, but he manages until he hears the howling.

Because she's there.

Standing quietly in the open doorway (Sam doesn't know how she got it open), the Crimson-Eyed Demon looks at him with her sultry gaze. "Real clever, Sam," She says, inviting her self in. She perches herself on the edge of the bed to look at him. "It's a nice story you've got there. I don't really want to hear the end, though." She smiles persuasively, not begging him to stop the rite that will strip her of her deal-making powers, but just suggesting it. He smiles back at her, the smile that says _screw you_.

"But that's the best part." He says, innocent. He looks back at Dean. The Crimson-Eyed Demon must be manifesting only to him, because if she was just blatantly there, Dean would have heard her and he'd be up driving his knife between her ribs for even being in the same room as Sam. Instead, he sleeps on. So Sam continues his homemade incantation.

"Oh, yeah, Sam, real smart," She hisses. "Try and screw me over. See what happens. I'll take him early. I'll do it."

"You can't. It's against the rules. The rules say one year." He counts to four on his fingers and holds them up triumphantly, displaying the number of months the deal has been in effect. "That leaves eight months." He calls her a nasty name and doesn't regret it. "Sorry, sweetheart."

But she doesn't look disappointed, and Sam feels doubt creep into the cracks in his plan that he didn't think existed. "Ooh, sorry, Sam. Gotta watch out for that small print. The rules say one year, but that's just conditional. Dean tries to wiggle out of it, and it's all over. You drop dead and I get his soul. Any time I want."

Sam remembers law school, turning through pages of case studies, trying to find a loophole. "But Dean's not trying. I am." Loophole found.

"He's not stopping you, is he? That's trying in my book." Loophole destroyed.

"If I destroy you…" He starts, thinking to taunt her into revealing the rest of the deal's small print. She doesn't take the bait, though, and stands up, starts to walk slowly toward Dean's bedside.

"Then the game's forfeit and I get him anyway. If not me, somebody else, so what's it matter?" She bends and gently traces her forefinger down the air just above Dean's spine. "I already decided how to do it, too. I'm gonna snap his back in two and watch him writhe around as his nerves die." She pauses. "Someone should put that in a movie." She strokes the air again, but makes her fingers claws and drags her nails down the space above Dean's back. Dean stirs uncomfortably in his sleep, and Sam pulls out the salt-laden gun from his waistband and aims for the Crimson-Eyed Demon's heart. She smiles innocently at him, then tears viciously at Dean's back with both hands, just one, good, long raking wound. Sam pulls the trigger, raising a battlecry, and she disappears. Dean shoots up, knife in hand, making that wounded animal sound Sam's heard in his dreams.

"Dean?" Sam says, and he can feel that failure start to smolder in his chest. Dean's gripping the knife tight, and looking around him for the threat he could sense even in sleep. He swears and swings his legs over the side of the bed, loosening his grip on the weapon as he catches Sam's worried eye. Sam has the presence of mind to hide the gun back in his waistband. Dean doesn't need to know the threat was ever anything but dreamed.

He tells Dean that he had a dream and _thanks a lot for waking me up, moron_, and even though Dean still looks unsettled, eventually he gives up and goes back to sleep.

Sam waits until he's out to burn the rite--his rite--that promised freedom, and gave only despair.

He doesn't sleep, but when the sun rises, he stares into the brightness and thinks, _one day more…_

* * *

_Thanks for reading! _


End file.
